


Downed dragon rider

by GreatMarta



Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Coughing, Gen, Ilness, Medical Examination, Mucus, OCs - Freeform, desease, hints of conflict in the family, mentions of Gothi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:49:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23214325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreatMarta/pseuds/GreatMarta
Summary: A little one-shot in which Astrid gets sick.
Kudos: 5





	Downed dragon rider

When Astrid awoke with a slight discomfort in her throat, she barely spared it any thought. She left her house and spent most of the day flying with Stormfly, which has recently become her favorite activity. At dinner she noticed an unpleasant sensation while swallowing, whereupon she asked her mother for some warm milk with honey, deeming such countermeasure more than sufficient. The ache did not cease by morning – if anything, it got worse – still, it was not the kind of pain that justified skipping training. Thus our heroine equipped herself in sandwiches with onion and garlic and bravely proceeded to face the day alongside her winged companion. She showed similar attitude when confronted with slight fever and occasional coughing. By that point her mother noticed something was wrong, but Astrid insisted it was just a cold and she’d be fine. Then the coughing intensified, the fever rose, and even Stormfly refused to take off, letting out worried squeaks as she inspected her rider. The girl’s mother argued it was high time to call Gothi. Miss Hofferson opened her mouth with the intention of protesting, but could not articulate a word through a sudden attack of cough. Then, in a final attempt to assure the world she was fine, she spat out some yellow and green mucus.

Astrid had to face it – she was sick. Very sick.

The girl’s mother took charge. She wrapped her daughter in a blanket and sat her by the hearth, muttering something about foolish youth, carelessness, and Vikings belonging on the ground after all. Astrid sipped the spicy drink her mother had given her, finding it harder and harder to remain upright. Her ribs hurt from coughing and her head seemed to weight a sheep. Perhaps she should have taken a break from flying when the symptoms were still bearable. She’d have cured herself by now.

Then Astrid’s father – who had gone to fetch Gothi – returned. He seemed to be troubled, and not without a reason.

“I’m sorry, Mist,” he told his wife. “Gothi is busy, so…” he pointed at the young man whom he brought along. It was Rusty – the youngest of Berk’s laeknar. Astrid sensed that her mother was upset about getting him instead of the village Elder, and that the young man took notice of the fact, as his smile was forced and posture indicated discomfort. Mist hesitated for a moment, then let out a sigh and left her daughter’s side, making place for the laeknir.

“Astrid has fever.” she informed him. “She is coughing badly. She said it was just a cold, but it clearly got out of control/”

“I see.” said Rusty, approaching his patient. He was a decade older than Astrid, had bright red hair, and an aura of dorkiness that reminded her of her friend Hiccup. “Hello, Astrid.” he said, kneeling beside her. “Can you tell me where it hurts?”

She considered the question. “Chest,” she uttered. “Throat. Head.”

Having said so she strengthened her grip on the blanket, as a shiver went through her body. Meanwhile Rusty touched her forehead with his palm.

“Would you describe the pain in your chest as the sun or the stars? I mean, is there one point from which the pain is radiating, or is it evenly distributed?”

Astrid was confused for a moment, but then she remembered Rusty belonged to the same clan as her friend Fishlegs. Seemed that they had a thing for poetry and flowery figures of speech. “Evenly,” she decided. “My ribs…”

The cough prevent her from elaborating.

“Okay,” said Rusty, and pulled a spoon from his bag. “Now, open your mouth as wide you can. I’ll take a look inside.”

Astrid did. When Rusty pushed her tongue down with the spoon, she coughed up mucus straight into his face. Immediately she wanted to apologize, but the cough was so bad it folded her like a piece of parchment.

“It’s okay,” assured Rusty without a hint of disgust. “These things happen. I should have been more careful,” he considered the bit of mucus on the handkerchief with which he’d wiped his face. “I think I know what this is. I’ll just listen to your lungs to be sure.”

He did so with a device that resembled a horn, pressing the wider end to Astrid’s back and his ear to the narrow end. He repeated the process on her chest. This time Astrid did her best to cough upwards, so no to spit anything on him.

With the examination over, the laeknir addressed his patient.

“You’ve got bronchitis, Astrid. I’m not gonna lie, it’s a serious condition, but it can be managed with the right therapy.”

He proceeded to explain she had to drink lots of water, lay down, and refrain from leaving the house for three weeks. It was a recommendation she found particularly hard to accept, and she would have told him so, if not for the need to cough up more mucus. Rusty waited for her attack to pass, handed her the drink she had put aside when he came, and assured that he would prepare a herbal mixture for her, which she’ll have to drink three times a day. She nodded, to indicate she understood. The young man gave her a reassuring smile, touched her shoulder, and rose to his feet. Then he addressed his patient’s parents, and a hint of anxiety spoilt his aura.

“I would advise compress therapy alongside herbal therapy. Astrid should be wrapped in hot compresses every evening until she recovers. Such session should last approximately 15 minutes,” the young man made a brief, albeit heavy pause. “I… I don’t think Astrid would be comfortable with me doing this…” he said, smiling sheepishly. “And, well, Gothi won’t do that.”

“What do you mean ‘Gothi won’t do that’?” asked Mist, glaring at the young laeknir.

“She doesn’t want to,” explained Rusty hurriedly. “It’s too much of a bother, apparently. You may ask her, but I doubt she’d give in. She’s Gothi, us kids don’t get to boss her around.”

Heavy silence filled the room.

“I’m sorry,” uttered Rusty.

Although he towered over Mist, he seemed to shrink under her gaze. Even the woman’s husband had an uneasy expression. As for Astrid, she knew very well what was going on inside her mother’s head. Ruling out Rusty and Gothi they were left with Blight – Mist’s own mother, with whom she was conflicted since Astrid could remember. She didn’t know why, but the two women avoided each other as much as possible. The few interactions they’ve had over the years – which Astrid got to witness – looked like confrontations between an alpha wolf and a rival to his throne. Surprisingly, it was the elderly Blight who cowered under her daughter’s intensive glare, hurrying out of the younger woman’s way. Astrid found it strange that anybody should be this scared of their own daughter, and even stranger that a grown woman should treat her own mother like this. She’d asked Mist what her problem was, but the only response she’d receive has always been “This is none of your business, Astrid”.

Mist folded her arms and passed the judgment. “Bring me the equipment. I’m going to do the wrapping myself.”

Rusty was puzzled. “You know how?”

Mist stared him down. “I’ve seen it done countless times and practiced on my dolls before you were born, lad. Don’t try implying I would hurt my own daughter.”

“I’m sorry, I meant no harm,” said the man, cowering. “Okay. As you say. I’ll… go get everything.”

He then hurried out of the house.

Axel Hofferson spared his wife a glance full of pity. “I’ll go and ask him about the wrapping. If you forget anything, I’ll be able to fill you up,” he said and hurried after Rusty.

Mist let out a sigh, shook her head, sat down beside Astrid and begun to caress her head. The girl got the impression that her mother was looking for comfort rather than trying to give it.

“Mom,” she uttered, against her better judgment, “why do you hate your mother so much?”

Mist made a sad face. “This is none of your business, Astrid,” she said, sounding thoroughly exhausted.

Astrid was not satisfied. She was fed up with hearing it was none of her business. By all accounts, she was determined to get to the core of the problem, to learn the whole story and to finally understand. She would press on, she decided. Alas, this ambitious plan had to be postponed until she could think straight. She was tired and aching and needed to lay down. Oh, and she had to ask somebody to care for Stormfly for those three weeks.

**Author's Note:**

> Laeknir – Viking practitioner of medicine; plural: laeknar.
> 
> Rusty and Blight are OCs of mine, first introduced in my AU series – “Hiccup at large”. However, since this particular shot could work in the canon continuity, I am not including it in the series. Though I do plan on addressing the conflict between Mist and Blight once I finish “Gift of a Mother”.
> 
> Featuring a portrait of Astrid’s parents, made by me.


End file.
